


Make Me Proud, Son

by Koehler



Series: Hamilton Fics (non-x-reader) [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Afterlife, Age Regression/De-Aging, Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koehler/pseuds/Koehler
Summary: Philip isn't sure how to feel about his death, but meeting a young man after he dies may help him through it.
My heart-wrenching idea that this is based off of: “John helps Philip off the ground, dusting the dirt off him. He raises him and cares for him as if he were his own son. Philip has reverted to how he feels safe, as a nine-year-old when he was happy and he made his father proud.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: Alexander Hamilton’s last words to Philip before his duel were “Make me proud, son.”
> 
> This was weird. I’m weird. I’m sorry.

A tear slid down Philip’s cheek as he watched his mother stop counting from his position lying down in the hospital bed. He has always changed the melody, after years of hearing the numbers in french countless times, he couldn’t find it in himself to finish the damn line. He watched behind closed eyes as his parents were left sobbing and alone, using each other’s company as what little console was left. He knew the truth, he hadn’t fired at the sky. He hadn’t gotten the chance. The gun had fallen, shooting aimlessly off to the side.

He just hoped aiming at the sky was enough. All he wanted to do was make his father proud. Had he made his father proud? He had tried his damnedest not to cry, he hoped that mattered. His mother would have to take another heartbreak, it was all his fault. He wasn’t holding on, he knew that now. He felt everything and nothing. His body was numb, he wasn’t there anymore.

So, for the first time in years, Philip Hamilton let himself curl up into a ball and cry. Wet, sloppy, gross tears were left on his eyelids and trailed down the side of his face. He didn’t care who saw him, he needed to do this. After so long, he needed to let himself feel again.

Philip felt the bullet, the seared path that it had taken through his chest. He felt his sister, having a nervous breakdown, he felt her body breaking into pieces. He felt the air thicken, threatening to suffocate those trapped in it. He felt his friends, saw the shock consume them. Philip felt his mother’s heart shatter once again, and he felt his father witness him refuse his parents’ last wish. Stay alive. He couldn’t even do that for his family, how was he expected to do that for himself?

He wasn’t even with them anymore. How could he let himself stay? As he continued his painful sobbing, he heard his voice get higher pitched. Nothing about him felt normal, but it felt like a familiar friend. It felt like comfort, it was safety. He felt like he was finally at home. He was lying under a tree, and looking up, he saw that it was the tree that he used to write poetry under as a child. He stared up at the branches, how he always wanted to climb them. How he was never allowed to.

He heard a voice of a young man. Philip didn’t want to turn and see him. He was too exhausted, he had given up. “Hey, kid! You alright?” Kid? He wasn’t a kid, he was a man. He inhaled, trying to stop the tears to no avail. They were silent now, steadily trickling off the side of his face and into the dirt. A gentle hand took his shoulder and pushed it flat to the dirt, letting Philip see his freckled face and soft eyes.

“Hello. My name is John. What’s yours?” Laurens watched the nine-year-old stutter and struggle to form a coherent thought. John chose to silently encourage him, sending a small smile for comfort.

“My name is Philip.”  
“Well then, Philip. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He helped the little boy to his feet, dusting the dirt off his jacket and face. He noticed a tear in the jacket and shirt, causing him to frown. Philip seemed to notice because he used his hand to cover the rip and blushed. There was blood on the shirt, but no wound on the child.

Not wanting to cause any alarm, he scooped up the child, who let out a shriek and began to giggle.

“You got a last name, bud?”

“Hamilton.”

That stopped John dead in his tracks and he set Philip down on his feet. His eyebrow raised as a sly grin made his way to his face.  
“Hamilton? Wow, I think I knew your dad. You wouldn’t be Alexander and Eliza’s son, would you?” Philip blushed and nodded, beaming as he proudly said

“My daddy said that I’m gonna grow up to be something amazing, but I just want to be a poet.” John thought for a moment before he threw Philip over his shoulder and started walking towards his house, the two of them laughing all the way.

“You’re going to do just fine here, Hamilton.”

~~~~~

“Papa, come look at what I did!” a voice called from outside the small home. John made his way outside, looking for the boy that was calling for him. He walked into the yard to see Philip on the top of the oak tree, holding on to the trunk and looking very pleased with himself. Laurens let out a small yelp before jogging over to the tree, calling out “Be careful up there!”

Philip slowly climbed down the tree, having to make little hops downwards in some places due to his height and giving John heart palpitations. Once he was at the last branch, Philip leaped into John’s open arms.   
“I was practicing my climbing all day for you, Papa!” He felt the warm hug from John as he spun around and put him down. He ruffled the top of his hair before saying “I’m so proud of you, Philip.”

Philip tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t help how overjoyed he felt. He was surprised to feel a few tears trickle down his cheek as John knelt down to be at his eye level. He was looking down, but could feel John brush his tears off his face, about to speak before Philip cut him off.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start crying. I’m just so happy. I’ve never felt like this before.” John smiled sadly at him before his eyes lit up, looking past Philip and towards the side of the house. “Hey, bud. I think there’s someone here that can’t wait to see you.” Philip turned, confused, before his eyes lit up. He began to run, yelling “Daddy! You’re home!”

Laurens smiled, watching the father and son reunite and hug for the first time in years. He didn’t think that the man that ran out of time had ever looked happier.


End file.
